


pardon the way that i stare

by saltalyn



Series: he's the sun and he's the moon [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, baz is an emo bitch, but wbk, simon is really tired bc the mage is a horrible asshole, this is the third time i'm saying it but, this isn't even really a slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltalyn/pseuds/saltalyn
Summary: Baz observes Simon throughout the day and notices how tired he must be. What with carrying the fate of the World of Mages on his shoulders and being sent on missions for the Mage, all while still attending classes.prompt #17: silence/free day (I chose the prompt "We match.")
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow (one sided)
Series: he's the sun and he's the moon [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865137
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	pardon the way that i stare

**Author's Note:**

> this one is really short but i didn't think there was much else i could add to it. title from can't keep my eyes off of you by frankie valli. (did he even orginally write it?) enjoy!!

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is an enigma. He is the single most alive person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Rays of sun bounce off his golden skin, his smile is beaming, a blinding white. He always appears happy, even though the fate of the World of Mages rests on his shoulders. This cumbersome burden bestowed upon him by some arbitrary prophecy that doesn’t know it’s crushing the embodiment of good. If that prophecy were sentient, I know it wouldn’t choose Simon Snow. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve anything this cruel world has thrown at him.

If I could, I would bear the burden of his destiny, just so he could roam freely, happily. But I can’t. All I can do is make sure he wins our final battle; anything more would be suspicious in the eyes of the Old Families. 

The heir to the House of Pitch shall not fraternise with the Chosen One.

At around half past three in the morning, Simon returned from a mission for the Mage. He stumbled his way into our room, shed his shoes, socks, and trousers, then collapsed onto his bed. He was asleep within an instant, I could tell by the depths of his breaths and the way his mouth hung open.

Once I was sure that he wouldn’t wake, I quietly climbed out of bed to rearrange his duvet, and lay it gently over his body. I went back to sleep peacefully. 

I perform small acts of kindness for Simon, in ways he’s too oblivious to notice. For instance, this morning, I woke before him and took a shower. We have a bathing system, I shower in the mornings, usually when Simon’s already in the Dining Hall; he showers in the evenings, usually when I’m studying or revising.

Obviously, Simon never got the chance to bathe last night, so I gave him time to do so this morning. (“Why are you up so early?” he yawned, suspicion still evident in his tone. “None of your business,” I deadpanned, not looking up from my Elocution textbook. He rolled his eyes before gathering his uniform and trudging into the en suite.)

At breakfast, he seemed to have brightened up at the sight of freshly baked sour cherry scones and bacon. However, I could still see tinges of exhaustion in the way he slathered butter on his scones, the way he lifted his mug of coffee to his lips, and the way he seemed to droop and slant toward Bunce.

I sit behind him in Magic Words, and I noticed him begin to wilt, chin on his propped up fist. I jerked my foot forward, kicking the heel of his trainers. He startled, muscles jolting.

He grunts and whips around to glare at me.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Snow?” the professor asked.

“No, sorry,” he said, focusing his attention back on the lesson. Three seconds later he stomped on my foot, I almost smiled.

At lunch, Simon rested his head on Bunce’s shoulder and I couldn’t help but I wish I were her.

In Political Science, Bunce constantly tapped his arm to wake him.

During dinner, I watched his eyes droop, eyelids gradually falling.

After dinner, Simon retired to our room and I hunted in the Catacombs. I paid a quick visit to my mother’s tomb, placing my forehead on the marble and shutting my eyes. Thinking about her warm skin, bright eyes, and rough hands brings me comfort. I’m getting better, but occasionally I miss her so much, it’s overwhelming. I try not to think about the fact that she killed herself to prevent herself from becoming like me. 

I returned to Mummers, walking in to see Simon lying face down on his bed, trainer-clad feet hanging off the end of it. I give a small, secret smile, I’m glad he’s finally resting.

I prop myself up on my headboard, continuing the second installment of a book series I’ve been reading. I’m caught up on all of my homework, though Simon probably couldn’t say the same thing.

The longer I sit, the colder I become. I get up to shut the window, noticing a bird on the sill.

“Snow,” I say. I hate to wake him, but I’d rather he be tired than in trouble with the Mage. He doesn’t stir. I throw one of my pillows at him and he jerks awake. I smirk at his messy hair and bleary eyes. 

“What the hell-?” he says, voice raspy.

“The Mage is summoning you.”

“Oh, mother of fuck,” he swears. I bite my tongue to keep myself from smiling, the bastard. He ruffles his hair then straightens his shirt and tie.

I sigh when the door closes and go back to reading.

When Simon returns, he doesn’t seem to notice me. The room is dark, I’ve the duvet up to my shoulders. He’s glistening with sweat, chest heaving. He looks like a Greek hero, though this analogy may be influenced by that book series. 

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, sighing. He drops into a crouch and drags his hands over his face. He stays down there for a short while, standing to tidy up the clothes he shed last night. Simon drops them into his laundry basket, then grabs his Watford pajamas.

He lumbers into the loo and I hear the shower switch on and off. 

I watch his figure crash into his bed, he falls asleep almost instantly.

Staring at his silhouette, backlit by moonlight, I realize two things. Right now, in this moment, he isn’t the Chosen One, he isn’t the love of my life--he’s just a boy, a very tired one at that.

Secondly, I realize that we match. He’s exhausted, and so am I. I’m indescribably tired of keeping appearances, maintaining this façade. I’m tired of pretending I’m an emotionless arsehole who hates Simon Snow. I’m tired of pretending that I’m not a vampire, that I’m not gay, that I’m not in love with my roommate. That’s all I ever do: I avoid and ignore. I learned it from my father. We avoid all the hard topics. We avoid talking about my mother’s death, my vampirism, my homosexuality--I’m bloody sick of it. 

But there’s nothing I can do. If the Coven found out what I was, I’d be stricken from the book, stripped of my magic, ridden of my fangs. My father would probably disown me if he found out I even  _ kissed _ a boy.

My mind is lost in a turmoil, I fall asleep focused on Simon’s light snores and the rise and fall of his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave kudos and a comment telling me what you thought! btw the book series is percy jackson bc i said so


End file.
